For One Moment
by bipping
Summary: Spamano oneshot. In the arms of someone you love, isn't it easy to forget the hate that rules your life, just for one moment?


**Author's Note: **

I cannot believe it's taken me this long to upload a Spamano oneshot. Stupid other pairings, with their plots and their...their...their being easy to write than Spamano. Damn them.

I had my last exam today, and I wrote this to celebrate. I'm hoping that now all that's out of the way, I can focus on finally finishing Reversal, as well as typing up some new stuff.

(If you're interested, I'm hoping to have the final chapter of Reversal uploaded at some point over the next week. I'm about a third of the way through it).

Like White, this was adapted from a story I wrote years ago, which is why it's slightly out of character in places.

The oneshot contains swearing, and some mentions of suicide and solvent abuse, and may have a couple of spelling and grammar mistakes in it. I apologise for them in advance.

I do not own Hetalia. I do not own any of the characters used.

* * *

><p>The two tried to avoid meeting each others gaze.<p>

This was wrong.

It wasn't wrong because they were both male. If anything, that was what made it right.

The face-splitting smile ever worn by the taller of the two had vanished. Eyes of a green usually so bright they put emeralds to shame were dull and wide with worry.

"Lovi," he began in what was barely more than an astonished whisper, "you can't tell her about this."

The shorter, Lovino, scowled at the name. "I wasn't planning on it," he growled.

Antonio blinked in relief. He gulped slightly. "Gracias Lovi," he said, his smile beginning to fall back into place.

"Whatever." His gratitude was met with an eye roll and a deepened scowl. It was dismissed with a flick of Lovino's wrist. He then turned on his heels and made as if to leave.

A mumbled, "Don't go," was lost to the wind.

The reply of, "I wouldn't dream of it," would never be acknowledged, not even by the amber-eyed Italian who wanted nothing more than to say it.

He closed his eyes, and tried to pretend he wasn't inches from tears.

He found himself wishing that this time, Antonio would come after him.

Lovino would deny it until his dying day, but he spent almost every second of his meaningless existence wishing Antonio had come after him.

His footsteps echoed down the corridor.

His hand resting on the door handle.

Another hand, a stronger hand, on his wrist, pulling him back towards the taller man, twisting him around to face the taller man.

Two pairs of regretful eyes meeting.

Antonio slid his grip down from Lovino's wrist, and took his hand lightly for a moment, before entwining their fingers. The corner of his mouth curled upward slightly, in promise that which was soon to blossom from that seed of a smile. He tugged Lovino closer to him, and just held him.

Slowly, he brought his lips to meet those of the shorter man.

There never have been, and never will be, enough words to describe how this felt to Lovino. In literature, it's often described that the hero lost himself in a kiss.

But Lovino had been lost, and it felt nothing like this.

This was the very opposite.

Lovino found himself in this kiss. Lovino found himself in every kiss. Pieces of him began re-emerging in Antonio's arms, and his gaze. The cloak of deception Lovino had spent so long at the loom weaving unravelled in the Spaniard's smile.

This, and every other moment he spent with Antonio, was the time he had to be whole. And he knew it was short.

Nothing else had ever amounted to the high he felt around Antonio. And he had tried everything.

He had the puncture marks to prove it.

He couldn't remember why he'd ever left this little piece of heaven he had once called his own; wondered why he'd almost knowingly handed it over to another. There- there had been an argument, but there always was. Lovino liked to shout and swear. He struggled to remember much more than that.

But he remembered leaving.

He remembered walking out of the door he had been about to walk out of, and vowing never to return, bag in hand, middle finger raised at the bastard stood behind him.

He remembered the awful feeling of waking up the next day, on the sofa in the living room of his brother's flat, heart heavy, a thin blanket around his shoulders. No strong arms around his waist, no cheerful Antonio babbling away in rapid Spanish. He still felt that horrible, heart-wrenching pain every morning he woke up alone.

He remembered trying to blame Antonio, and then slowly coming to terms it was all his fault, that he pushed him away. He couldn't really remember the months of depression that followed that, but he could remember the soul-consuming nothingness that those dark months had been.

And after the depression had come the drugs.

And after the drugs had come the suicide.

And the suicide had led him here, to the one place he wanted to be; in Antonio's arms.

For a moment, none of that happened.

For one blissful moment, he forgot about it all.

He forgot about everything but Antonio, and the arms that held him, and the lips that were kissing him, and the heart that had never given up on him, even when he'd given up on himself.

There was nothing but Antonio. The had never been anything but Antonio. There never would be anything but Antonio.

There was no complications with the two of them being together. Together was how they we meant to be.

All too soon, the illusion was shattered. Once again, he was Lovino Vargas, the broken shell of a man that had frightened his brother to death by attempting to overdose.

Once again, the man opposite him was Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, fresh out of university with a promising future and a beautiful girl he was soon to call his wife.

And no matter how much Lovino wanted these facts to change, he knew they wouldn't.

He pulled away from Antonio, and once again turned to leave.

His footsteps echoed down the corridor.

His hand resting on the door handle.

Antonio closed his eyes; he'd seen this too many times.

It haunted his nightmares.

Every nightmare was the same;their last day, over and over.

Because in his dreams, when his eyes were closed and he couldn't see Bella, the woman had no power over him.

It had always been Lovino.

It had been Lovino since the day they met.

Sometimes, he would attempt to slaughter the pain those nightmares brought by calling out to Lovion, but Lovino never turned.

He would not let what had previously been the most beautiful event to happen to him in what felt like years be contorted into something he would forever regret.

Besides, the way he'd felt after Feliciano had told him about Lovino's- about the suicide, had cleared both his head and his heart. He finally understood that, without Lovino, he would never be complete. Even if he had Bella. Even if he had anyone.

Without Lovino, he could be standing in a crowd of a million people, and he would still be completely alone.

"Wait!" he called, his voice fretful.

Lovino faced him.

Antonio once again wrapped his arms around the smaller man.

"I let you go once," he whispered. "I'm not going to do it again."

The weigth of this promise caused Lovino's heart to grow heavy.

"Bastard," he mumbled. "It's not that fucking easy."

Holding Lovino at arms length, Antonio gazed deep into those amber eyes. Those amber eyes he'd missed so much, that could change to mirror the sunset, that were full of so much beauty and compassion, even if Lovino himself struggled to realise amber eyes that had closed not too long ago, and come dangerously close to not opening again.

"I don't care," he stated. "I'll to whatever it takes, Lovi. Don't you understand that?"

He shook his head. "No, bastard, I fucking well can't." He looked down for a second, clearly finding more comfort in the floor than in Antonio's devoted gaze. "You have this fucking brilliant life lined up for you, with a decent job and a beautiful wife, and yet you'd throw all that away for a fucked up headcase like me? It- It doesn't make any fucking sense! You have everything-"

Antonio cut his words off by shaking his head. "I don't have everything Lovi."

"You're fucking close to having everything!"

"I don't have you."

Lovino almost choked on his tongue. He brought his eye back up to meet Antonio. They wore confusion, and hid behind a glossy sheild that would become tears with their next blink.

"I don't want everything," continued Antonio. "I'd be satisfied with just you."

He ran a hand through Lovino's reddish-brown hair in a comforting manner, once again pulling him closer, and gently trapping him with his arms, like a living prison.

"Then you're a fucked up headcase too-"

Lovino's words were drowned out by the Spaniard pressing his lips to his once again.

And for a moment, it was all that simple.

He loved Antonio.

Antonio loved him.

That was all that would ever matter.

* * *

><p><strong>Extended an: **

This was rewritten to celebrate the fact I'd finished my exams. I'm sorry if it sucks, but please, let us all blame that on Physics.

I really don't have very much else to say, other than I hope you enjoyed it.

I want to say you should all expect more Spamano from me, seeing as they're my OTP and all, but you probably won't get that much.

Thanks for reading. If you enjoyed this, you may also enjoy some of my other oneshots, seeing as they all seem to follow a similar pattern. The most popular are White and Snow. I recommend you check them out. Also, Mistakes and Stargazing. People seemed to like those two.


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